


fly down and feed at their hand

by decant



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Bondage, Other, Silence, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Zagreus is very polite. Very eager to please.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decant/pseuds/decant
Summary: Chaos has some observations to make on the subject of reactions to stimulus.
Relationships: Chaos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 398





	fly down and feed at their hand

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Hey, Little Songbird](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRGQqFfqps0) from Hadestown.

“You have once again arrived, Son of Hades. This pleases me.”

Zagreus smiles up at Chaos, but stays silent as they prefer. His breathing is still rough from the strain of passing into their realm, the pain of entry not yet faded. The cost is worth it, though. Not for the gifts Chaos bestows alone, though those are valuable enough, but merely the chance to see them, the chance to be in their unfathomable presence, for however brief a moment of time.

And if Master Chaos is pleased, this only pleases Zagreus in turn.

“I have a favor I would ask of you,” Chaos says, and Zagreus has to restrain himself from immediately agreeing. _Yes, Master Chaos. Whatever you want, Master Chaos. For you I would do anything._ “Many eons have passed since I have last had the opportunity to truly study my creations. Your visits grant me a unique opportunity to do so up close. If you are amenable, I should like to study your body. Respond.”

“Of course, Master Chaos.” The words are out before Zagreus even has to think, before he can consider what Chaos’ request will entail. But there was never any other response he could have given. Anything Chaos wishes to do to him, he will endure. He will accept any pain or hardship from them. Has _already_ accepted so much from visiting them and from the curses they apply. And every single moment of pain is something he’ll happily go through again and again and again for them.

“This is appreciated. Remove your clothing and let us begin.”

And Zagreus does as he’s told.

There is a curious absence of temperature in Chaos’ domain, he thinks as he strips. It isn’t too warm or too cold, but neither is it just right. It simply _is,_ a place that seems like it should not exist, yet, against all attempts at logic, exists anyway. It is incomprehensible, no point ever appearing the same between glances. Even the surface they rest upon wanders off into folds and angles that hurt to consider too long.

He pulls off each garment – not too quickly, it wouldn’t do to appear _too_ eager – folding them into a neat pile. As he does so, Chaos glides slowly around him, their movements as uncanny as the realm they embody, too smooth to be natural. He can feel their eyes on every minute detail of him, examining him and cataloguing each bump and dip of skin over muscle over bone. Whether they are satisfied or find him lacking, however, they give no indication, their expression as inscrutable as ever.

He thinks he should feel more awkward, standing here nude before Chaos, but there’s something comfortable to it, despite their presence, despite their scrutiny. As if Chaos is judging him, but if he’s found wanting, it will be as a curiosity to be investigated, not a personal flaw.

There is, at the same time, a deep eroticism to it, the feeling that he’s being known in his entirety and appreciated for it. The feeling of being scrutinized and investigated, every detail of himself known, laid bare before Chaos in more than just nudity. And there’s a part of him that enjoys _this_ feeling very much indeed. He shifts his feet, only now self-conscious in his arousal, but then stills, not wanting to interrupt Chaos’ perusal.

And then they _touch_ him. He nearly jumps out of his skin, only staying still through the utmost discipline. They run a finger along his shoulder blade, their skin soft against him. Then they move their finger to spine, flowing down, pausing at every ridge. He can’t help the shivers that now run through him, this slow movement of nothing but finger against skin somehow more agonizing than any of the many deaths he’s suffered.

He wants desperately to lean back against them, to feel their body against his. He wants, even more desperately, to please them, and continue doing as he is told.

His instinct to obey wins.

Finally they circle back in front of him, coming to a halt. Their finger is still trailing against his skin, over his arm, along muscle and down, until their finger rests directly in the center of his chest. Directly over his heart. They stand there, their expression considering, then pull the finger away again. Zagreus misses it the moment it’s gone.

Then they open their mouth to speak once again. “Lie down,” they say, and Zagreus wastes no time in following their direction.

The ground, when he sits upon it, is as incomprehensible as the rest of his surroundings, now that he pays it attention. Always before he had assumed it a hard surface, and his mind had accepted that as fact. But now, so much of his skin is in contact with it, it’s as if it can’t decide on its texture or density. One moment it feels hard as stone and the next spongy and soft, cradling him as if in Chaos’ own hand.

And upon this he lies. He stares up into the inky black far above, waiting for Chaos to do…whatever it is they plan to do. The longer he stares, the more impossibly dizzying arrays of color that exist for infinitesimal moments in the corner of his eye are revealed, entrancing him.

It’s a shock when Chaos finally touches him. He could have been staring into that distant canopy for seconds or minutes; he has entirely lost track. But the return of Chaos’ touch brings him back to his body as if he’d never left. Fingers ghost up his calves then thighs and then along his ribcage, so light as to be almost insubstantial, yet it feels as if it burns, so aware of it he is.

Then Chaos steps back, and he almost whimpers at the loss of contact. Zagreus wants their hands back on him. He wants their hands on him forever. But clearly Chaos has other ideas.

While his eyes remain on Chaos, tendrils burst from beneath him, wrapping around his wrists and ankles, pulling them apart and binding him directly to the raw firmament of the material loosely resembling ground beneath him. Zagreus’ eyes dart wildly to this new sensation, and he tugs at one arm. The bindings are soft yet unyielding, though not too tight, holding his limbs secure without pain. The material has the same curious lack of temperature as everything else, conforming to his skin.

But with his movement, they begin slithering up his arms, then his legs, winding around until he can barely move at all, tenderly trapped and bound. It’s inescapable, yet oddly comforting, his freedom removed but replaced with the security of knowing Master Chaos themself has control of him, and he feels no hesitance at relaxing into the bindings given to him.

Then another tendril emerges. It wanders over his skin, its pace leisurely, its path meticulous, thoroughly mapping out every detail of his body. And every brush of tentacle to skin is electrifying. He squirms, not sure if he’s trying to get away or get closer, knowing only that he must move. But there is no escaping its touch, even if he wanted to.

And then another tendril emerges. And another. And another. He loses count as they swarm him, each seemingly with a mind of its own, following what he assumes must be Chaos’ directives. They brush against his nipples, and he writhes at the sensitivity as they travel over his body until he no longer knows where he ends and they begin.

Then one of them brushes against his cock. His whole body goes taut, the sensation simultaneously unexpected and exactly what he is waiting for. The feel of it against him – of _Master Chaos_ against him – is almost surreal, more dream than reality. As this entire realm is. And yet it’s a dream Zagreus has no wish to leave.

Another prods at his entrance, testing, teasing, pushing against him but not quite in. And he wants it in, with a sudden desperate longing. Wants it filling him, Chaos merged with his very being, inextricably linked, bound into one for however short a moment. He jerks his hips against the seeking tendril, but it shies away once again, and he could almost groan in frustration. But he won’t. He will be good for Master Chaos. He will be silent.

The tendril pulls away from him, and his resolution nearly falters, frustrated moan pressing at the seam of his lips. And then it returns, plunging into him, and he is lost, all restraint but the ones he is bound in eliminated.

“Master Cha—” he begins, but Chaos leans down an unfathomably far distance from where they hover above him and presses a finger to Zagreus’ lips, cutting him off.

“I did not bid you to speak, Son of Hades.” Their tone is as even as ever, no disappointment or anger that he can detect, just detached observation. “And I would once again request that you do not. I prefer the silence for study.”

Another tendril appears, slithering up his body until it comes to rest against his lips. He opens them, allowing it in, and it makes itself at home, heavy against his tongue. The taste is pure Chaos, incomprehensible, yet somehow pleasant, somehow familiar, the way Chaos’ realm has become so very familiar and welcoming against all odds.

Then the tendril within him begins to move, and all other thought is wiped from his mind. It’s slick, filling him without a struggle, and the friction that begins building up with its movements is irresistible. It pulls out then in, out then in, even as another continues to stroke at his cock. And it’s perfect. Painfully exquisite. It’s the closest he can get to being one with Chaos, their tendrils filling him even as their physical form, or the portion of themself that they pass off as their physical form, watches over him. Their expression remains composed, but there’s an interest, a spark in their eye, that he could swear is watching more intently than usual.

Zagreus wants to thrash, wants to pull the tendril fucking in and out of him so deep into his body that it never leaves. But he’s restrained, his bonds preventing anything but the slightest of rocking, the clenching of muscles against the tendrils stroking on him and in him and around him. He sucks on the one in his mouth, unable to contain another moan as it, too, begins a leisurely slide in counterpoint to the other within him, pulsating gently within his mouth.

With every movement the tension within him grows. He’s being pulled apart, pulled together, pulled tight. There’s too much happening to him. Too much pressure, too much rhythm, too many sensations beyond what he can hope to keep track of. Too much _Chaos,_ in every sense of the word, and he can’t get enough.

And finally the tension breaks. One thrust too many, one last stroke against him, and he’s finished, shuddering and gasping as he comes apart within Chaos’ grasp, surrounded and held and filled by all of the tendrils as Chaos stands apart, as they watch and study and learn.

“Thank you, Son of Hades.” Chaos is unruffled, so vast a difference between them and Zagreus, lying at their feet, with no cohesion left, a puddle in the wake of release. “You have been an admirable subject. Perhaps we shall do more trials at a future meeting. Or perhaps not. But one must find amusements where one can, and it would please me to repeat this attempt, and I believe it would please you, as well.” Chaos ruffles their fingers through Zagreus’ sweat-soaked hair, and Zagreus leans into it like a dog to his master. It _would_ most certainly please him.

Chaos presses their boons to Zagreus’ bare chest, warm and bright points against his skin. “Now select your gift and leave, and I foresee we shall meet again very soon.”


End file.
